Na Noite (Parte Dois)

Disclaimer: No, I am not J.K. Rowling. Nor am I Puerto Rican, for that matter, but that doesn't have much to do with this story, so ignore it. ;)

Chapter Eleven: Na Noite (Parte Doir)

--

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as a third gust of wind graced them with its presence. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, knowing that he still felt guilty, despairing that he still felt guilty, and relishing that he still felt guilty.

He cared. He cared, enough.

With that he stood, taking his traditional black frock coat off with many small, swift movements of his fingers. She observed as each button passed through each buttonhole, as he seduced her with the slightest of movements. She did not react, however. The only difference in demeanour remained behind the chocolate eyes as she mentally shook herself for becoming so captivated by the mundane act of disrobing...oh gods...taking off one's overcoat.

"...Professor, I don't need..."

"Either you cease that incessant chatter of your teeth, or I give you my coat."

She stumbled up to her full height. "No, sir..."

"Please, Miss Granger."

"Honestly, I..."

"Nonsense, girl. You are freezing." He pulled his arms from the sleeves; leaving the Potions master the most undressed she had ever seen him. The white button down was a nice touch, and she could see how unbelievably thin...and fit he was. He looked so clean cut... and very sexy.

"I cannot argue..."

"Nor may you," he completed gruffly. He lifted the shoulders up to help her into the dark material that was her professor's frock coat.

"How very chivalrous of you!" She smiled teasingly.

"It's what proper men do," he said without a smile.

She pushed her arms through, adjusting the straps of her gown and pulling at the collar to bring it closer to her body. It was still warm from his heat, and an embarrassing intimacy ran through her body as she thought on it. She looked up with smiling eyes to see him, arms folded, regarding her with a pensive look on his face. Giggling, she magicked the countless buttons closed all the way up to the neck.

"I think we could be twins." She spun around to show their resemblance, topping it off with a scowl worthy of the man standing before her.

"What was that?"

"What was what, sir?"

"That... spell you performed."

"Oh, just something I learned in Portugal. Helps unzip, unbutton, unhinge...what have you...twice as fast. I just did the counter-jinx. What?" Her explanation was rudely interrupted by his deep chuckle. "Oh, no!! That's not what I meant! I meant...I mean, there's a lot of buttons in...No! That's not what I meant!"

"Of course." He smirked. "Apparently one learns more than stirring cauldrons at Peniche."

"That is not what I meant!" She blushed furiously. Exchanging sexual jokes with her professor was entirely too surreal for words.

"No, no! Never."

"Oh, do shut up!"

"What is it called?"

"The what?"

"What is the spell called?" he asked irritably. "For one so logically inclined, you appear quite dumb when embarrassed. It is unbecoming, Hermione." She could tell he had regretted using her name, for a slight twitch of his mouth gave way to his feelings at that moment.

"Thanks, Professor. The jinx is called Dimettus."

"Clever, that."

"Indeed." Hermione slowly calmed, sinking slowly into the warmth of him. He smelled nice. Like sage, lime, and something she could not quite pinpoint. It was quite intoxicating, though. They stood side by side, his hands set lazily in his pockets as he looked up at the mountains across the lake in the distance. She slowly brought the sleeves up over her wrists and nestled into the cuffs, basking in the calming scent and the surprisingly smooth textile chosen for such a seemingly rigid man.

--

He looked down at her, an odd warmth building in his body with every second he spent basking in the beams of Hermione. This was not supposed to be happening. He knew what it was, and he did not like it. This feeling always ruined things...ruined lives. This feeling was... was...he would not say it. He would not admit it to himself.

"Were you enjoying yourself at the ball? I'm sure you did not come all the way out here to join the wicked old Potions master." He smirked.

"No, no. I became quite bored, really. Especially when the slower songs started playing."

"Boredom, was it?" Her breath hitched as he folded his arms. She paused, looking at her delicate hands in the pooling moonlight. The veins protruded a little and Severus realized that despite her beauty, she did look a bit malnourished...pale, sleepy, and on edge. She felt alone, she felt unloved... she was stubborn, cruelly intelligent, thirsting for more knowledge than she could possibly handle, inaccessible, obsessed with the things she could not have... This was another Snape, ready to bloom.

"You're not 'wicked', per se. Snarky, stubborn, and sometimes cruel...but not wicked. And you are most certainly NOT old." She waved her hand in the air as if to fish for an example. "Dumbledore was old."

"Snarky, eh?" he chuckled. But then he reviewed what she had just said. "I feel old," he mumbled.

"With good reason." She looked up at him. "Just thought you should know that you're not..."

"Old." He grinned.

"No, you're not." She smirked back playfully.

"...Thank you, Miss Granger. I assume that was a compliment of some kind."

"Don't get many of those?" she joked.

He rolled his eyes, although the discomfort was eating at his insides. They stood...in silence...again, as some notes from the current song echoed out to the shore. "I like this harmony..." and she began to sing along softly, caressing the words and sounds lovingly. Severus listened. He did not know the song, but it was easy to like when the woman standing next to him delivered it so well.

"You have a beautiful voice, Hermione." He blurted out, although the smooth silkiness of his voice emulated a calculated and premeditated intention. She stopped immediately, blushing and covering her mouth.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."

"Did I not just say that I enjoyed it?"

"Sorry." She did not sing again. He knew he should not have said anything, but he also enjoyed the effect he had on her nerves, especially since his new found interest in her.

No, no new-found interest. I enjoy making her squirm, that is all. Wait... NO! No, no, no!

She curled into his robes even more in her embarrassment and was silent for a while. They listened to the ending notes of the song and awaited the arrival of another, and Severus felt even guiltier, as he had caused her discomfort. For someone so enthused by praise, Hermione did react negatively to some. She lifted her head after a moment and spoke with a bit of revelation in her voice, "You said my name."

"I what?"

"You said, 'Hermione.' That is the second time. Tell me I'm crazy."

"...You're crazy." He answered dutifully, panicking on the inside as to what he should do.

"I am not!" she said angrily.

"Miss Granger, you just asked..."

"I know what I asked! Merlin!" She began to pace, her hand in her hair, running through her tamed curls.

"You're not crazy, then."

"Of course not. You called me Hermione."

Silence. Bloody hell.

"You are an enigma, Professor."

"And let's leave it at that."

"But you know me, Professor."

"Well enough, and from what I know you will stop at nothing until you 'crack the code,' so to speak."

"Not if you ask me not to," she said, looking into his eyes.

"Don't."

"You didn't ask."

"You are insufferable!" He turned away from her and could not help but cringe at their 'old couple-ness.'

She chuckled and folded her arms, the long sleeves of his robes creating an awkward, elongating effect on her appendages. "...Thank you, sir."

He sighed. "For what, Miss Granger?"

"For listening to me, for being friendly to me...although in a slightly atypical way. For everything, really."

"Stop thanking me before I cart you off to St. Mungo's." Then he added, a little uncomfortably, "You owe me nothing."

"You pity me," she stated.

"No, you pity me," he spat back, and it was true, although rather childish for him to mention it at that moment. He could see it in her eyes.

"I used to pity you," she corrected him, unfolding her arms and running her wand down the excess buttons to rid herself of his coat. "I should probably get back to the ball... You know, they might need the Head Girl to break up a brawl or fix the decorations," she joked. "Anyway, thank you, again, Professor, for listening to me babble on and on incessantly." With that, she turned and headed towards the Great Hall.

"You used to pity me," he repeated. Flabbergasted, yet curious as to what she meant by it, he went on, "And now what of me, Granger?"

She stopped and turned to him from a couple metres away. "Admiration. Respect. And a bit of awe, really." He took note of the new spring in her step as she retreated into the shadow of the castle.

"You are crazy," he exclaimed, audibly enough to hear it nearly a hundred metres away. She waved at him lazily, not looking back as she headed towards the main entrance. It was then he realized the chill of the air, as if her warmth had left him. He lifted the coat that rested in his hands to his face, drinking in a scent he was familiar with, but not accustomed to in this setting. "Orange blossom?"

A/N: Soooo, mystery of Hermione's predicament is solved for now, I hope? Feel free to let me know if there's something that just... totally makes no sense and I'll do my best to fix it.

Oh, and thanks to ladyinthecloak for beta-ing!